A Fool For Love
by Pat Taylor
Summary: Max and Alex uncover a web of corruption when they investigate the death of a prostitute. Short fourparter, set during Max's early years on the NYPD.
1. Chapter 1

**A FOOL FOR LOVE**

**A Max Payne Story in Four Acts**

**_1. The Dead Hooker_**

Friday night, nine o'clock. My wedding anniversary.

And I was stood in a sleazy East Side tenement room, looking out at the rain pounding on the dusty single-glaze window, and running down to the dirty streets below in steady rivers.

Me and Michelle had reached a compromise. She knew there'd always be another woman in our life. She'd known it a year ago today, when we swore till death do us part, and she damn well knew it now.

Tonight the other woman was a dead hooker, lying flat on a dirty, blood-soaked bed with two bullet holes in her chest and her stunned, prematurely-aged face swollen with bruises. More dead riff-raff, swept up from the crumbling streets of the world's greatest city. Another forgotten victim.

"What are you thinking, Max?" Alex solemnly asked me.

I stared at the pathetic shape of the corpse on the bed. She wore torn, ragged fishnets, a tight black top, a mini-skirt and little else. She'd slapped on the make-up, maybe hoping to hide the lines of a life of pain and abuse. Her brown eyes, both of them big and beautiful, were staring wide in horror, rimmed with dark lines of stress and lack of sleep.

"Late twenties, maybe," I suggested. "Looks older, though. Cause of death, blood loss from two bullets to the abdomen." I looked at him hopefully. "A hooker?"

"Her name?" Alex asked.

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

He threw me a pair of plastic gloves. I frowned, pulled them on and started to frisk through the hooker's pockets.

Alex had been my partner since I joined the force two years ago. He'd been doing this for nearly a decade now and knew the ropes pretty well. Alex was a pretty respected guy at the precinct. He'd solved a few high-profile cases over the years, including several major drugs busts and the arrest of a high profile member of the Russian mob. I'd had a lot to live up to when he took me on his partner. His former partner had gone on to disability retirement after taking a bullet to the neck and was currently living in a chair off government benefits. He'd been happy to take me in, a rookie, show me the ropes a little.

I removed a thin plastic ID card. Driver's license. Though I doubt she could have afforded a car.

"Katrina Demeo," I said, handing the card to Alex. "Twenty-four. Jesus Christ."

Alex glanced at the card and then slid it back into the late hooker's pocket. He winced at the cold feel of her flesh beneath, already getting stiff. "Save that for forensics," he frowned.

"Ring any bells?" I asked, pulling my coat close around me. The room's only heat came from a broken heater in the corner. Outside the wind howled through the thin window, ice cold and soulless.

"Can't say she does, Max," Alex replied, rubbing a hand through his thin beard. "Then again, with my Jessica back at home, I don't have much use for ladies of the night."

We both chuckled softly, and then felt a little guilty to be sharing a joke in the company of the deceased. You get used to it. There's a point where death stops getting to you. If you can't laugh about it, you'll go mad. There's only laughter, and beyond that the darkness, and sometimes it's best to forget about what lurks out there.

"Who would know her?" I asked, searching the room for clues, any clues, anything to work on.

"Most of the hookers normally hang out round 4th street," Balder shrugged. "Someone down there's bound to know her."

I nodded, and then stopped at an old faded Gone With The Wind poster. A little watermarked, peeling round the edges, but there was a clear neat hole in Vivien Leigh's eye, the eye that would have stared lovingly into Clark Gable's cold, trusting stare. I had a feeling Vivien's eyes were looking elsewhere.

"Come and take a look at this," I asked Alex.

As my partner advanced, I slid my finger into the neat hole and felt the cool feel of glass, a slightly curved surface. Made sense.

"There's a camera back here," I said. "Katrina was recording her clients."

I took a step back, allowing Alex to look at the evidence. "Look for an entrance," he said, carefully peeling back the poster. "There's probably a back room round here."

I began to search the run down room, scanning the threadbare carpet, the damp-stained plaster walls, the few items of furniture. There was an old chipped wooden-door cupboard against the far wall, adjacent to the camera.

Bingo.

The door opened up on a small room, little more than an alcove that had been hollowed out of the interior of the wall. The camera sat on a tripod, its eye gazing on Alex and the run down room.

I carefully removed it from its place and checked the inside for a tape.

Nothing.

Other than the camera, the room back here was empty. There were no more videos. Whatever the late Miss Demeo had done with her home movies, they were no longer here.

"Just the camera back here," I called out to Alex, and edged back into the room, almost thankful for the space, despite its size. "All the home movies were gone."

Alex was frowning and staring at the hooker's body. "This could be bigger than it looks, Max. We should be careful."

I nodded.

We left forensics to deal with the scene and made our way to 4th Street.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**A FOOL FOR LOVE**

**2. A Life or Death Situation**

I've said that in my marriage to Michelle there could be no compromises between her and work. I was wrong. There was one.

"It's alright, honey," I said into the phone. "I'm a little busy tonight. We got a homicide on the East Side. I might be a little late home. I'll try and head off earlier."

"Be careful," Michelle said, and in the background our old grandfather clock chimed the half hour, making me think of warmth and comfort and home, and Michelle, curled up alone on the settee. God, I missed her sometimes. I would have given anything to be off the rainy streets and curled up next to her, watching a crappy movie as the rain lashed the windows outside.

Instead I was stood beneath a phone booth shelter, raindrops running down my numb cheeks and through my hair and in rivers off the side of the booth, Alex sat waiting for me in the battered Honda a few yards back. I could hear the monotonous squeak of his window wipers and could almost feel his burning, impatient eyes in the back of my neck.

Sorry, Alex. There had to be a compromise somewhere.

"I'll try my best, baby," I promised Michelle, a lie I could never keep. You never knew what could happen to you on these streets. "And I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

"Don't worry," Michelle said, with a little chuckle that sent an electric current through my tense stomach. "I'll keep up for you, darling."

"Alright," I replied. "'Night, honey."

I hung up and ran the length of the sidewalk in the driving downpour, almost leaping into the passenger seat of Alex's '92 Honda Accord. Ugly looking car, but damn reliable, and on a night like this, its heat and shelter were more than enough.

"Michelle alright?" Alex asked matter-of-factly, lighting up a Marlboro light. He offered me one and I accepted.

"She's fine," I replied, flicking up my Zippo. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Hey, I know what's it like, Max," Alex said, starting up the engine. "I remember when I first joined the force, my Jessie had me call her up every half hour on my night shifts. It was a nightmare for both of us. I don't think she's too bothered now, though." He chuckled to himself and took a long drag on his smoke, the end flaring up briefly in the dark car.

We cruised through the dark streets of the East Side, through mazes of run down tenements and building sites and poverty. Occasionally a streetlight would be flickering dully or would be off entirely. Now and again you'd spot a street gang huddled under an archway for shelter.

I sighed, and smoked, and thought of Michelle.

We pulled up outside a sleazy bar just off 4th Street, the Union City Blue. Hooker's bar. As a cop I'd been here a few times before, cleaning up after brawls or taking care of shit like this – the detective work. By now me and Alex had the routine down to a T.

I reached for my Beretta.

"Now, now, Max," Alex said as he killed the lights. "You don't always have to go straight for the gun. That's the most important thing to remember, as a cop."

"I find it's pretty persuasive," I responded.

"No, no. It puts you and the victim in a life or death situation, a real tinderbox. Someone slips up a little and people end up dead. You want to avoid that as much as you can. The gun should always be the last resort." He frowned at me until I slid my Beretta back into its holster. "For your sake too. Chances are those criminals are packing." He winked at me, stepped out of the car and said, "Watch this."

I followed him through the wall of dirty rain, into the unwelcoming neon haze of the bar.

The room was stuffy and stunk of old beer and older bar fights. Shadowy figures sat slumped over tables that were lit only by the neon lights, as bright and garish as the fires of hell. From somewhere in the corner the jukebox played David Bowie's Suffragette City.

Alex pushed past two pretty young girls, fresh faces, at the bar.

"Double whisky, straight," he asked the grim barman. "What are you having, Max?"

"Same, on the rocks," I asked, and nudged myself a place against the bar.

I reached for my pack of smokes and realised that the girl next to me, a pretty young brunette with too much makeup and too few clothes, was staring at me intently.

I stared back.

She winked at me. "You looking for a good time, big boy?"

The barman slid the glass towards me, the ice tinkling in the amber liquor. "No thanks," I replied, sliding the cigarette into my mouth. "But maybe you can make my time here a little easier."

She edged towards me and whispered, "Anything you want."

I ignored her advances. "Katrina Demeo," I asked. "You know her?"

The hooker sighed, her face sinking, and crushed her half-smoked cigarette out in a ceramic ashtray at the bar. In the blue neon lights her face suddenly looked very old. "Kat?" she replied. "Sure I know her. What's the problem?"

I flicked up my Zippo lighter and for a second my face was lit a bright red. "She's dead," I responded, matter-of-factly, and took a drag on my cigarette.

"Oh, Christ," the hooker winced. "You're kidding me, right?"

I flashed her my badge. "Afraid not. Max Payne, NYPD. This gentleman next to me is Alex Balder, my partner. And maybe you can help us a little."

"Go on." The hooker's eyes had welled up and she looked ill. With a shaking hand she reached for her cigarettes. I handed her one of mine.

"Kat was shot dead in her own bedroom," I explained. "Two bullets to the gut, shot like Annie Oakley. But that's not what interested us. We found a video camera tucked away behind the wall. Got us thinking that maybe Miss Demeo wasn't quite as innocent as we thought."

"Oh, god, that must have been Goldie," the hooker said suddenly. "Another one of his little plans. Always knew he was a dodgy bastard."

Alex's ears suddenly chipped up. "Goldie?" he said. "Goldie Lazaru?"

The hooker nodded. "You know him?"

"Damn right I know him," Alex said. "Thank you very much, ma'am. You've been pretty damn helpful."

The hooker tried to smile, but the news had hit her hard. I got the feeling Kat had been a popular girl. She'd had her problems maybe, she'd been living in desperation. But she had been a nice girl, and maybe in a different life she could have changed the world. Fat lot of good it had done her. Now she was growing cold on an East Side bed.

We left her as she confided in the arms of her friend and began to cross the room.

"You know this guy?" I asked. People in the bar were giving us funny looks now. There were cops in their midst.

"Know him?" Alex cried. "Me and Goldie have had enough run-ins the past. He's the most crooked pimp on the East Side. Reckon he's even got connections in the mob."

"Blackmail?"

"A blackmail ring would make sense." Alex winked at me again. "See what I mean? You get a lot more without the gun. Keep it away unless needs be." He turned to a red-lit table in the far corner. "And now you're about to see another means of interrogation."

Goldie was sat in the corner, two women on either side of him, engaging in conversation with two heavy-set men. In the red lights he looked like a demon, bedecked in several gold chains, over a sober black suit. His eyebrow boasted a single cold piercing, his lip boasted two, and there was a ring in his nose like a bull. All of them attempted to make him look more intimidating, but with his scrawny figure he just looked like a pincushion.

"Yeah, man," he smirked, in a voice like a broken piano. As he spoke, I could see his full set of gold teeth flashing in the neon. "These bitches here are mine, for my personal use. Ain't that right, ladies?" The girls nodded obediently. "A man of my persuasion always has to keep the best talent for himself. Leave the dirty old men to have the cast-off hos, you know."

Alex wasted no time. His arms stretched across the table, sending glasses crashing to the floor, and before I could blink he'd yanked Goldie's scrawny body out of the seat and had thrown him to the wooden door of the bar.

For a moment the bar went deathly silent, and all I could hear was Sandy Rogers singing 'Fool for Love.'

Alex smirked down at Goldie's quivering form. "Goldie," he chuckled. "We got to have a little chat."

"Aw, damn," the pimp groaned. "What you wantin' this time, pig?"

Alex bent down, grabbed Goldie's squirming arm, and yanked him to his feet, simultaneously pulling his arm over his head so hard that the tendons squealed. He cried out, a brief squeal in the silence.

One of the heavy-set men who'd been sat with him went to stand up. I pulled my gun on him and he slumped back into his seat.

Alex flashed me a sinister glance and then dragged the terrified pimp's ear close to his mouth. "We got to talk about Katrina Demeo," I heard Alex whisper, and I could just about here Goldie sob hopelessly. My partner turned to Goldie's girls and was suddenly all smiles. "Sorry, ladies. He'll be back with you as soon as he's co-operated with us. It won't take long at all."

"This is police brutality!" Goldie screamed. He got another harsh yank on his arm for his troubles.

Alex led the pimp out through the door, almost frogmarching him out past the astonished eyes of the bar patrons. I holstered my gun, but I got the feeling that was a mistake. There were eyes in that bar watching a little too closely.

Paranoia, Max, I thought. Ignore it.

Outside Alex had Goldie by the neck near the kerb, where a stream of brown water flowed merrily along the kerbside. The pimp struggled and squirmed hopelessly in his arms. It looked like a bear holding down a fox, and Goldie had about as much chance of escaping. I watched intently.

"Katrina Demeo!" Alex yelled in the pimp's ear. "Talk to me!"

"What you wanting to know?" Goldie asked, his face just inches away from the violent muddy stream. "Anything, man."

"She's dead."

"That's damn unfortunate, man, she was one of my best girls…"

"Who did it?"

"The hell should I know?"

Alex slammed down hard on the back of Goldie's head, plunging him face first into the raging torrent. For a second his face vanished, strands of his black hair billowing like flags along the jagged brown surface, and then Alex yanked him back up, water flowing down his face in rivulets.

"Damn, this a new suit," Goldie mumbled, spitting filthy sewage water out on to the wet kerb.

"There was a video camera in Demeo's room," Alex said. "Anything to do with you?"

"Oh, damn man, not that," Goldie said.

Once more Alex plunged his face into the stream, holding it down long enough for Goldie to start writhing in his arms. When Alex released him this time, the pimp took deep greedy breaths of the fresh damp air, and coughed up a clot of drain water.

"Next time I don't let go," Alex balked. "Now speak."

"We… we had a blackmail ring."

"Who's we?"

"Legs Malluchi, owner of the Four Aces Club off Broadway. Big Mafia guy. It was his ring, he had a few of us doing his work for him – filming the more upper crust clients and charging them a couple a grand for keeping them under lock up."

"And Demeo?"

"She was in on it too, you know? Had a few high class clients, nice piece of ass, that broad."

Alex threw Goldie to the damp floor. "Thanks a lot, Goldie," he said, wiping his hands on his jacket. "You've been very helpful."

He turned to me and we walked to the car together.

"See, Payne?" he grinned. "Sometimes you don't even need the gun."

I frowned as we entered the car. If it was the all the same to him, I'd keep my Beretta on me.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**A FOOL FOR LOVE**

**Part Three: Dead Man's Hand**

The Four Aces Club. I'd heard about this place.

The rumours were legion. Stories of imaginable depravity, sadomasochism, brutal beatings, even murder. It was a true tough guy's bar.

The Four Aces had changed ownership on an almost weekly basis since its days as a speakeasy in the 1930s. At the moment it was, and had been for an unusually long time, under the control of the Punchinello crime family. For the most part it was a legitimate front for any number of illegal activities.

"You understand that we're going to have to play this one real softly?" Alex said as we drove through the run down streets. "People who mess with the affairs of the big families tend to know about it when they wake up in the morgue."

"So?" I replied. "It's our job to deal with the scum. We're supposed to stop them, not pander to them."

"In an ideal world, yeah," Alex said sadly. "Unfortunately, this is the real world, and the Punchinellos run this town. I'd rather not come home and find my wife riddled with bullets."

I sighed hopelessly. "Someone needs to sort this town out," I said.

Alex shrugged. "What you going to do? It's the way it always has been here. We keep the small-times off the streets, the big fish run things the way they want and we sit back and make sure they don't get out line. But as long as they're not tearing the city to bits, we let them to it." He stared out into the road, streetlights flashing white streaks across his solemn face. "It's not fair. But it's how things are, and it's how they'll always be."

We pulled up about a block away and walked through the driving rain to the unwelcoming red-brick building. It sat bathed in sleazy red neon, bright as blood, raindrops slicking its run down surface. A small line of damp customers, sheltering under coats or umbrellas, stood outside, muttering and tapping their feet.

Alex took the lead, walking straight up to the entrance. Two huge bouncers greeted him, as through the door behind them loud pounding dance beats poured out into the street, as friendly as a punch in the jaw.

"Can I help you, sir?" one, a stocky man with a goatee almost twice Alex's height, snarled.

Alex flashed his badge. "NYPD," he said calmly, not missing a beat. "I'd like a word with Mr Malluchi."

The bouncer turned to his friend and chuckled. "We got vice here," he snickered, and folded his arms. He turned back to Alex, who barely flinched. "You know the score," he said. "Go on. Take a hike, buddy. We're all paid up with the PD. If you're here for a party, join the line."

"Afraid this ain't a routine inspection, knuckles," Alex replied. Despite the fact that the bouncer looked big enough to snap Alex's spine with one hand movement, Alex stood his ground and stared him straight in the eye, showing no fear. "We got us a murder charge. And we're storming the place. So step aside, or you can take a ride with us to the station with a bullet in your gut."

The bouncer grabbed Alex's collar and yanked to within an inch of his face. "I don't think you heard me…" he sneered.

A shot rang out in the rain. Someone screamed.

The bouncer fell backwards and Alex swung the barrel of his gun through the air, shattering the bouncer's lower jaw and sending him tumbling to the rain-slicked street. As if nothing had happened, Alex approached the bouncer and said, "Now, are you going to get in the way too?"

The bouncer shook his head and stepped aside. Alex politely thanked him and said, "Come on, Max."

I followed him through the door and into the dark, sweaty depths of the Four Aces.

Already the night was in full swing. Couples sat on the sides of the steps and the cloakroom, kissing and worse. The throbbing beats of Nine Inch Nail's Closer filled the room, deafeningly loud. Everything was bathed in darkness and shadow, cheap red and green lights flashing through the haze.

We descended the stairs into the heart of the club.

"See, Max?" Alex called back to me, gently pushing an almost paralytic young lady out of the way. "Occasionally the gun can be useful."

"Did you shoot him?" I yelled.

"Nah," he cried back. "Bullet to the floor. Threw a scare onto him. Then took my advantage. It can be pretty damn useful if you've got surprise on your side."

We wandered past the bar area and out on to the edge of the dance-floor. On the sides, two men and a bouncer were engaged in a ruckus as a few half-interested patrons looked on. Two people were passed out by the sides, one lying in his own vomit. The floor itself was a gyrating mass of people, all soaked in sweat, many in a state of near-undress, dancing in an entirely unfamiliar way to what I would consider 'dancing.'

The staircase to Malluchi's office lay at the back of the room, beyond a small black fire escape. A man lay slumped unconscious in the seat next to it as a young girl who looked like a hooker sat next to him. The walls were decorated in old movie posters – White Heat, The Big Sleep, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The French Connection and, of course, Gone With The Wind. I wondered if Vivien Leigh's unfaithful eyes were staring elsewhere this time.

Alex pushed open the door and we stepped out into a cool concrete corridor, lit by naked fluorescents. The deafening club music descended into barely recognisable beats. It was like stepping into another world.

We climbed the short steel staircase and pushed open the door to Malluchi's office.

"Oh, dear god," Alex cried.

We both stumbled into the room, and I suddenly wanted to run like hell.

Malluchi was tied to his chair, a strip of silver duct tape slapped over his mouth. He stared up at us with desperate eyes, and I could see why. Behind him stood a man in a balaclava, holding a 9mm to his sweat-soaked head.

"Don't move!" the man in the balaclava cried. "Don't you move an inch! Or I kill this son of a bitch!"

"Whoa, now," Alex said, raising his arms in the air. "Just… just calm down. No need to do anything rash. We're with the NYPD. Just calm down."

"You're just in time, detectives," the masked man said calmly. "To witness this scumbag's execution."

"I warn you, if you pull that trigger, we'll pull ours," Alex said. "Put the gun down."

The man grinned. Glanced down at Malluchi's quaking figure.

Malluchi screamed.

The masked man pulled the trigger.

A single shot rang out in the office and much of Malluchi's brains were blown out of his head. His body slumped forward in its chair.

Alex wasted no time. He pumped three bullets into the killer, who collapsed backwards against the wall and slumped into a smoking heap.

"Nice shooting, Tex," I said, following him into the carnage.

We bent down near the body of the killer. Alex quickly frisked his military jacket and withdrew a video cassette. Then he yanked off the mask.

The man beneath was young, with long blonde hair. Still had a few pimples.

"You think this guy was our killer?" I asked Alex, who was crossing the room to one of the CCTV screens. He slid the video cassette into the player below.

We were greeted with some grainy footage of the late Kat Demeo's room. Through the black and light grey colouring we could make out two people, stood in the room. Kat lay on the bed, wrapping her arms around a tall, slender man.

"Wait," I said. "Pause it."

Alex hit the pause button.

"I recognise that guy," I said, rubbing my chin.

"Sure," Alex replied. "That's Elmore Pierce. He's a big corporate figure."

We both looked at each other. And our blissful feel of victory was shattered as the telephone rang. We both simultaneously went to grab it, but I beat Alex.

"Hello?" I said.

"Doubtless you've just discovered that I killed Ms Demeo," a smooth voice said down the other end. "Well done, detectives. Well done."

"Pierce?" I grunted.

"Correct," the corporate chief said, and I could almost see his successful grin, as wide as a crocodile's. "Unfortunately for you, Detective, my company designed the majority of CCTV cameras on the East Side, and I have absolute access to all of them. I've been following your every move since you left the whore's apartment. And you made one major error. Calling your wife."

Something snapped inside of me and all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Raw anger flashed through my body. "If you've laid one finger on Michelle, you bastard…"

"Don't you worry, Mr Payne," Pierce chuckled. "Michelle will be fine. Providing you back off for long enough to let me leave the city. Otherwise, my men currently hanging around outside your comfortable Jersey home will be forced to put a bullet in her pretty face."

"You DARE!" I screamed.

"Two hours, Payne," he replied calmly. "And you'll never have to worry about any of this ever again."

He hung up.

I turned to Alex, and he must have seen the anger in my eyes, because he visibly flinched. "Come on," I said. "We're going home."

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**A FOOL FOR LOVE**

**4. Who Watches the Watchmen?**

The Payne residence, midway through a long dark night.

There's a man standing by the porch, smoking a cigarette and looking at a stream of water flowing off the edge of a drain. He's holding an MP5 in his hand. Occasionally he'll whisper something into a walkie-talkie.

"You ready?" I say to Alex. We were sat in his car, parked under a streetlight. The reflection of the raindrops on the windshield sent crazy circle patterns across his face, lit white in the dim light.

"Ready when you are, Max," he says. "Remember, though, this is a hostage situation. We're going to have to be real careful here. For Michelle. Remember that."

I grunted and pushed open the door.

The goon saw me leap out into the rain and fell backwards, stunned. I fired three shots, three brief 'pings' in the rainy air, and he fell backwards into the porch. The gun clattered to the floor and, as I watched, his cigarette fell on to the lawn.

"Come on," I said, and we slunk towards the house.

The lights were on in the downstairs window, hidden by some thick red curtains. I thought of Michelle, sat there on her seat with a book, completely unaware of what was going on outside.

I carefully pushed up against the porch wall and peered around the corner. "Another one," I whispered to Alex as a goon in a scarf and jumper wandered round the corner.

Two shots, one to the gut and one to the knee, sent him slumping dead to the floor, smoke rising off his fresh corpse. Keeping low, we made our way past the porch, round to the back of the house. I could make out a mumbled conversation between two by the backdoor.

"So this Pierce guy's a major player," one said, rolling up a cigarette. "I mean, major. He's the biggest security supplier on the East Coast, easy. He's the kinda guy you don't mess around with, know what I mean?"

"Oh, I know, I know," the other said. "Heard he can watch any corner of the city from his office."

"That's right. CCTV, heat sensors, everything. He's got full-on access, you know? Always makes sure to out a few chips into his cameras when he sells them, just so he can keep watch. His little eyes, he calls them."

"He got any in, uh, you know? Lady's places?"

"'Lady's places?' The hell do you mean by that? Do you mean a 'lady's place,' or…"

"No, no," the other goon chuckled. "No, though that would be something, huh? I mean, like, locker rooms and stuff."

"Ha. Doubt he'd be in the security business if he could get that sort of coverage. He'd be keeping the Playboy channel in business."

I crept past the climbing roses, keeping low beneath the window. I let off two shots.

"Holy crap!" the goon with the rollie screamed and fell to the floor, a bullet whacking home in his head. His partner reached for his MP5 and fired off a brief burst of gunfire in my direction. I rolled out the way, just in time for Alex to pop a shot straight between his eyes.

The goon slumped down dead.

"Thanks, man," I said, standing up from the grass. I was soaked to the skin, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered to me now but getting to Michelle.

I pushed open the back door and stepped into the kitchen, then almost ran into the living room. And my heart sunk.

"Don't move another inch," a huge goon snarled, his coarse hands clutching Michelle's perfect pale skin.

Raw fear, anger and horror all surged through my body at once. I reached for my gun. "Put her down!" I cried. "Now!"

The goon giggled and put a gun against her forehead. I stared into her beautiful, desperate eyes, welling up with tears, and almost had to fight back my own. God, she was beautiful, and if he pulled that trigger…

"I think I'm the one who's in a position to give orders, Mr Payne," the huge goon said. Michelle clutched on to his arms and struggled desperately. Behind her, on the slightly crinkled sofa, I could still see the book she'd been reading when all this happened, and the lamp lay on the floor.

"Ok," I said. "Alright. Let her go."

"Put the gun down," the goon ordered. "Now."

I did as he ordered, dropping my gun to the carpet. I kicked it across the room towards him, where he stood on it with one Desert Driver boot.

"Alright, now let her go," I demanded.

"Let her go?" the goon replied. "She stays with me until I get a call from Mr Pierce telling me he's safely out of the city. And you stay here too. On your hands and knees. Then maybe you can have your precious wife back."

I fell to my knees, staring into Michelle's eyes desperately. I'm sorry, I thought. God, I'm sorry. Should have listened to Alex. Should have waited. But no, you had to play hero, didn't you? Had to risk everything. And now Pierce was going to get away, escaping justice scot-free.

"That's better," the goon said. "Now…"

His words were cut off by a brief burst of gunfire through the far window.

"The hell?" he cried, spinning around to face his attacker.

His response was a bullet to the face, a single shot that sheared off his teeth. I knew my cue to act. I leapt across the room, grabbing Michelle and yanking her out of the path of the goon as he pulled the trigger. The shot socked home in a chest of drawers as me and Michelle collapsed on to the rug together and the goon slumped dead.

Alex Balder stepped in through the window, the rain lashing through after him. "I'm sorry about the mess," he smirked.

"Oh, thank god, Alex," I said, holding Michelle. "Thank God."

I held her for a long time.

_**The Pierce Security Tower, later that evening.**_

Up here you could almost taste heaven. High above the city around you, the lights and the noise and the cars and the neon all roaring around you like an ocean far beneath your stable rock, and nothing above you but it's shining spires and the heavens themselves – black clouds rolling on, lashing the streets with an endless rain.

Elmore Pierce stood up on the roof, the rain driving around him. He was a tall man, middle-aged, with scruffy blonde hair and a trench coat that billowed around his slender form like a cloak.

"I knew you'd arrive," he said calmly.

I took the lead and kept my gun trained on him. "Elmore Pierce," I said. "You're under arrest for the murder of Katrina Demeo, and for conspiracy to murder Richard 'Legs' Malluchi and Michelle Payne. Unfortunately for you, that last one failed."

"Fortunately for you," he snapped. "You've still got the loving arms of your wife to come home to every night. You screwed up big time, detective. Leading me to her like that."

"I guess it doesn't matter now," I replied. "Your plan's through. And you're going to face a long time away for this."

"Oh, for god's sake, Payne!" he cried, spinning around to face me. "Stop acting like I'm some remorseless bar-room psychopath! I'm not one of your mob heavies. You think it gave me any pleasure, killing Demeo? You think I'm happy to be in this mess?" He sighed, looked down at his feet. Water pooled and streamed around him. "I was betrayed. That was what hurt me more than anything. You know, it all seems rather silly now, but I think I loved her. And she loved me."

"She was a prostitute. There's no love about it."

"Is there? She was in need, but she was still a human being. I suppose I was a fool to think I could have saved her. A fool for her love."

I sighed. "That doesn't excuse what you did. You shot dead an unarmed girl."

"And I suppose you're a saint, are you, detective?" he retorted. "How many have you killed today in the pursuit of your so-called justice? For my part, I have terminated the careers of a known Mafioso and an extortionist. Please, explain how that makes us any different."

"You can't take the law into your own hands," I responded. But I wasn't sure about that myself. I wasn't sure if even I believed it anymore.

"No," Pierce sighed. "Of course not."

And he reached into his trench coat. As I watched with dawning horror, he yanked out a revolver.

Two shots rang out in the still night air. His arm only got halfway up before freezing. The gun fell from his grip, clattering on the floor, and he slumped down afterwards. Dead, I thought, the blood draining away into the drains around him, to vanish into the rain soaked city below. Dead as Caesar.

"Hmm," Alex said from behind. "Suicide."

"Suicide?" I replied.

"He knew you'd reach for the gun, Max. He's been watching you. Why do you think he was so slow? Damn it, Max."

I frowned, staring down at the body of the late Elmore Pierce. Suicide, I thought bitterly. You beat me Pierce. You beat me good. Maybe you weren't such a fool after all. And maybe what this city needs is someone willing to do what is necessary. Or maybe he had just been a voyeur, upset that someone had been watching the watchman. I suppose I'll never know.

I holstered the Beretta and we walked back to the car, and back to the lights of the city.

The End


End file.
